


Lavender Cupcakes

by runningoutofminutes



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bakery/Florist!AU, Fanon!Jehan, Florist!Jehan, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, because we like flower prince Jehan, how do tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:23:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningoutofminutes/pseuds/runningoutofminutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt from montparsnips on Tumblr: "someone pls write me a fic where Jehan owns/works in a florist and Courfeyrac owns/works in a bakery/patisserie."</p><p>I did my best, I hope it's what you wanted!<br/>Posted on my Tumblr as well.<br/>(Lavender cupcakes are actually really good, just to let you know)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lavender Cupcakes

Courfeyrac’s only on his second day in the bakery next door to the Café Musain. He knows for a fact that while the coffee next door is probably the best in Paris, their baked goods leave a lot to be desired, so lunchtimes see people hop between the shops alternately for food and caffeine. He loves his job, though. He loves baked food, loves interacting with and meeting new people. As the day gets closer to sundown, people tend to become more open. They’ll say more to him than to most other people, simply because they’re tired and he’ll listen. He’s not paid to offer advice, but if he _can_ help, he will. He works from opening time in the morning to the last thing in the evening, but the time seems to dance away from him as he pores over recipes, chats to people, offers advice. 

On the morning of his third day, the lunchtime rush has died down and he’s settling down to one of his recipe books when the door opens slowly. Courfeyrac glances up in time to see a blond step nervously into the shop, letting the door close behind him as he looks around. The first thing Courfeyrac notices is the long braid, trailing around the back of his head, then pulled over one shoulder and woven with tiny flowers. It should look strange, but somehow it suits him perfectly. His eyes travel over the loose grey button-down shirt, down to the pale blue skinny jeans and pastel yellow brogues, then all the way back up to the man’s face. Everything about him screams _fuck gender stereotypes_ , and Courfeyrac is entranced instantly. The blond greets him, his voice soft as he walks forwards a little, prompting Courfeyrac to straighten up behind the counter and push the recipe book onto the floor with a quiet slam. He returns the greeting, and the stranger leans on the counter thoughtfully. “What’s good?” he asks after a moment, playing with the end of his braid, the picture of innocence.

Courfeyrac thinks for a moment, propping his chin up on his elbow. If he’s being truthful, he has no idea. Éponine makes the cakes normally; he’s too new, she doesn’t trust him. He catches himself staring at the flowers in the other man’s hair _yet again_ and straightens up. “Since it’s spring, I’d go for something light. We’ve got a new recipe, lavender cupcakes. Interested?”

The stranger hesitates for a moment, tilting his head to the side as he considers, then nods with a light grin. “They _do_ sound good, actually.” As Courfeyrac opens the glass case, the blond introduces himself - “Jehan. Well, Jean, but don’t call me that.” It makes him laugh and the stranger – Jehan – ducks his head with a flush and a sheepish grin when he takes the cake. They stand in silence for a moment before Jehan’s eyes flash back up to meet Courfeyrac’s and he smiles shyly. “When do you finish?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly with nerves.

“Seven,” Courfeyrac tells him regretfully. He’s never been more irritated with his long hours, but he knows that Monsieur Valjean just wants his bakery to do well. However, to his surprise, Jehan nods and pulls a scrap of paper out of his pocket. He bends his head in concentration, tongue poking out a little as he scrawls on the slip. ‘ ~~ _Jean_~~ _Jehan Prouvaire_ ’ followed by a string of numbers, all in loopy writing with swirls and a small flourish at the end. The writing fits so well with him that it makes Courfeyrac smile. Jean isn’t a name he would have given to the blond; he prefers his nickname. Jehan slides the paper across the counter.

“I’m at the florist down the road. Will you call me when you close up?” 

It’s all Courfeyrac can do to nod, floundering for something to say that isn’t weird and inappropriate in polite conversation. Jehan smiles again when his fingers close around the paper, clutching it like it’s the most precious thing he owns, and touches his hand gently. “I’ll see you soon, then?” Another nod, and the florist ducks out of the shop, pausing outside it for a moment before he ambles down the road and Courfeyrac leans against the counter to watch him leave.


End file.
